Little Bird
by GraceTheGraceless
Summary: Prucan/ "This is the kind of moment when invisibility counts; when they'd both rather be together in a never-ending world than surrounded by idiots. Or nations. The two words are synonymous to them both." Canada falls ill at a World Meeting, and Prussia takes good care of his sick little bird.


In all honesty, he didn't think anyone would actually notice. Technically, he was invisible. Nobody heard him, nobody saw him, and nobody really cared.

Sure, Alfred occasionally popped by to check in on his "baby brother", and France often called him when drunk, but other than that he was, for the most part, invisible. But not to all. Gilbert, sweet, amazing, heavily accented Gilbert saw him.

That was a fact for which Matthew was eternally grateful.

He arrived, mostly early, to yet another World Meeting, plopping down next to Prussia. This was the only way to ensure nobody (Russia) would sit on him, with or without accidental cause. He gave a weary smile to his boyfriend, then rested his head in his arms. His head was pounding, limbs aching with every movement.

Canada sniffed for maybe the 80th time that day, they closed his eyes. He was invisible, so no one would notice him sleeping through this one meeting. One meeting wouldn;t make a difference…

"Canada?" Prussia asked, voice hushed as he shook the other man's shoulder. Canada let out a soft groan, then shifted a little.

Prussia huffed and tried again, shaking at his shoulder once more. "Birdie," he tried, keeping his voice low. "You need to be awake now." More countries began to file in, chatting aimlessly with one another. The noise made Canada moan once more.

Prussia was beginning to worry now. Canada never slept in, let alone slept at meetings. During meetings! He pulled the shy boy into his grasp, head bobbing against his chest.

Gilbert frowned. Matthew was pale, cheeks flushed pink, nose cherry-colored. He cupped the boy's cheek, flinching as he felt warmth clinging to his skin.

"Oh, Birdie," Gilbert cooed. "You're sick!" Matthew simply groaned again, letting out a few feeble coughs before burying his face in Gilbert's shirt. The red-eyes man groaned silently himself, hand rubbing soothing circles over the top of Matthew's shirt.

"There, there." He's planting gently kisses over the top of Canada's head, breathing in the scent of his berry shampoo, mixed with the near-constant misty fog of maple, looming over the boy's skin.

It's a smell that's always been there. Maple, sometimes pancakes or the fish he feeds to his bear. What's his name again? Kujumaro? Sounds right, but Gilbert can never be sure. Whenever they're alone, all he can think about is Matthew, as opposed to the tiny details of life. Those are better left numb for Gil. He can't think of a better way to live.

"I can stay, r-right?" Comes Canada's shaky, sickly-sweet voice. He feels the heat continuously radiating off his boyfriend's body, and hugs him closer.

Maybe Prussia needs this contact more than Canada does; he needs the reassurance that Matthew is alright. A little warm and a little dizzy, but breathing and buzzing with Canadian pride, though practically invisible to the other nations.

That's another thing: Prussia cannot fathom how somebody as sweet and passionate, and down-right _wonderful_ as Canada can go unnoticed by the world. A few forgetful slips confusing him and his brother Alfred could be understood, but Prussia knows much more than that happens.

He knows that for the longest time, Canada was convinced he was fading, turning translucent, voice dying. Accept for when others beat the complete and utter shit out of him for something that stupid ass America did. And he called himself Matthew's brother...honestly…

Another weak cough draws Prussia's thoughts back to his partner. Canada is shaking, shivers tearing through him. This is the sickest he's seen Matt in such a long time, but it's understandable. Everyone gets sick.

Prussia's just glad it's a regular illness, and not something related to his nation. That would be awful. Luckily, he's alerted on even the slightest panic anywhere in Canada, and no such panic has occured.

"I ca-an s-stay, right?" Canada asks again, looking up at Prussia. He's giving his boyfriend that puppy-dog eyes, the kind that made his pale, violet-colored eyes wide and slightly weepy. They were barely glazed over with fever, but just enough to make Prussia's heart skip a beat.

He pondered over the thought for a minute. "Alright," he decided, running his fingers through Matthew's soft, blonde hair. "But if you feel worse at all, or if your fever gets any worse, I'll have to take you back to the hotel room."

Canada nods a bit, and hums in agreement, eyes sliding closed.

Prussia smiles a bit, then hoists Canada into his lap. Though the Canadian boy is a bit taller than him, Prussia finds that whenever he is ill or hurt, Matthew fits right into his lap, perfectly.

The meeting begins soon enough, the other nations filing in, some more flamboyant than others. Normally, it wouldn't bother either boy too much, but when Alfred and Arthur begin bickering, volume of their voices raising with every second, Prussia glares at them both.

The noise makes Canada whimper, curling into a feeble ball in Prussia's lap. He pulls a sympathetic face, gently cupping Canada's cheek. Warm, still, perhaps even a bit warmer, but he'll allow it for now.

He stands, lays Canada down on the chair, jacket covering him up, and walked over to the two idiots.

"Oi!" That gets their attention just fine, both their heads snapping up.

"What?" America asks, the rim of his coat in England's fists. Prussia gestures to the ball of sick Canada in his chair, and suddenly both England and America can see him. "Oh."

"Yeah. So if you could do me the awesome pleasure of shutting up?!" he shouts, making sure his voice is level enough as to not disturb Canada.

"Is he sick?" Alfred asks, following Prussia back over to his twin.

Gilbert scoops Matthew back up into his arms and sits down, hands brushing his hair from his face. He's such an angel when he's asleep. And when he's awake. Honestly, he's always an angel, the perfect, near-transparent man that Prussia can't help but to love.

Alfred lays a hand over Matthew's forehead, frowning. "So warm…" he mumbles.

"If he gets warmer I'm gonna take him back. He wanted to stay though." Prussia says, placing a kiss on Canada's forehead once America removes his hand.

England frowns a bit as well. "You're actually letting him stay?"

"I can't say no to that face." He replies. Alfred takes off his jacket and lays it over his brother. He's well aware that for most of their lives, he, as well as everyone else on earth, ignored Mattie. Yet, he never protested, never seemed to mind, never held a grudge…

Prussia smiles at him, and motions for the nations to sit down and resume their meeting.

For the most part, it goes well. They have a small break for snacks in which Prussia sits perfectly still, letting Canada nap quietly on his chest.

When he begins to whimper, Prussia looks down. Canada is covered in a light sheen of sweat, eyes pinched tightly shut.

Prussia does his best to rock Canada gently, trying to calm him down.

"Hush," Prussia says, "It's alright."

Dizzy, purple eyes open a bit, looking up at Prussia with a sad gaze. "B-bad drea-m…" Canada manages. He's such a child when he's ill; a child trying to act grown-up.

Prussia rubs a calloused thumb over the center of Canada's forehead. "Hush, birdie. It's alright."

Canada whimpers again, burying his face in Prussia's shirt. "Pooh bear," he moans softly, "I'm dizzy."

Prussia pats his head again. "Do you want to go back to the room?" Matthew shakes his head as furiously as he can. _Stubborn birdie._

"Can you sing me a song?" Canada asks, voice rather hoarse, and small as always.

Prussia groans a little, but does his best to hold it in. He can't be too loud in here, not with the other nations mucking about all over the place. He'd rather do this back at the hotel room, but his birdie doesn't feel well and it's not like he's asking him for a blowjob. Just a little song to lull him back to sleep.

"Alright." Canada smiles, wrapping his arms around Prussia's neck and hiding his face in the crook of his neck.

"Thank you pooh bear," he breathes, eyes slipping shut. When Prussia asks him what song to sing, he just says, "The one about birds and strawberries and kisses." Not a lot to go on, but Prussia is awesome enough to guess what song his boyfriend wants.

He clears his throat, then begins, voice soft and husky in Canada's ear.

"_If I kiss you,_

_Will your mouth read this truth?_

_Darling how I miss you,_

_Strawberries taste how lips do."_

Canada's invisibility must be rubbing off on him, he realizes, as no other nation points out his singing. They don't even seem to hear him…

Good. He likes it that way.

"_And it's not complete yet,_

_Mustn't get our feet wet,_

'_Cause that leads to regret,_

_Diving in too soon."_

Canada is snowing softly against his chest, and Prussia is happy that he's calm and collected, and not quite as hot as when he first woke up.

This is the kind of moment when invisibility counts; when they'd both rather be together in a never-ending world than surrounded by idiots. Or nations. The two words are synonymous to them both.

Invisibility is their own little world, time ticking by just the same, but perhaps a bit more peacfully than for anybody else.

And Gilbert's owed it all to Matthew.

"_And I'll owe it all to you, oh,_

_My little bird."_


End file.
